No Leaf Left Behind

My twin sister, Bella, and I looked at each other cross-eyed; our grandma is asking us to sweep leaves off the street again. Off of the street!  …where nasty cars spin aged tires and where entropy pulses and stirs. What’s even the point? I turn to Bella and groan: “who does this besides Mama? I don’t think we’ve ever had to sweep the street at home! I’m not sure Mom has ever done it either. Or Grandma Jackie. Or anyone ever on the face of the Earth!” Bella grabbed a broom and looked dead-eyed at the hot road. “Let’s just get it done.” 
So twice this summer, we’ve swept the one-way street in front of our grandparents’ house, clean of what felt like small amounts of dirt, leaves, and twigs. Bella and I cringe similarly when Mama uses fancy dishes that take forever to wash just so our tiny dinner of four can look prettier. “Mama, why does every dish have to look fancy on a pretty dish? The food’ll be gone in twenty minutes!” Bella and I are similarly perplexed by Mama’s obsession with manners that don’t seem to actually indicate niceness or politeness. Does it really matter if we fold the paper napkins before putting them on the table? My twin and I pride ourselves on being polite and well-mannered, but sometimes it feels impossible to keep up with the arbitrary minutia of old-school table correctness. 
This frustration has bubbled up to a point where it causes me active stress; I dread being corrected about something that feels so arbitrary. I share polite “family” dinner in my apartment at school with my five roommates. We laugh; we share the events of the day; we make jokes, all without the frustration of manner-obsession that feels like a relic of southern honor-shame culture. 
I was mid-vent about this subject to my friends when I realized I might be in the wrong here. I don’t have to like it, but the stress that living up to these small expectations has caused me, is disproportionate. In my stubbornness to do things “my way,” the way that younger people do things; I was likely causing Mama the same kind of stress and frustration that I was looking to avoid. And for what? To be “right?” Maybe, I have something to learn from her on this subject after all. I think back to the times that I’ve had to have dinner with the president of my college and his colleagues; even if it’s just for ‘show,’ I was glad that I knew the minutia I usually dread. 
Our family took a quick stroll to the beach several nights ago; on the way to the sand, we pass by the hotels in front of our house. I stare at my feet as we walk; they are jagged and cut open by sharp bay rocks. Next to them I notice weeds growing where the sidewalk meets the street. I look to Mama and say: “good thing we don’t have weeds on our street, huh?” She laughs and says: “Well, that’s because we sweep the leaves, dirt and seeds off!” 
And so it is.